


Normal People

by asuralucier



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Be Your Best Self, By Making Terrible Batman References, Famous People Shenanigans, Getting Together, Harvey POV, M/M, Mike is Successful!AU, Snark and Banter, TV Lawyering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27845647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: “My bad,” Mike said, still cheerfully. “I play a lot of cops. It’s my first try at being a lawyer. Wait no, I lied. I think I was a lawyeranda cop once.”Mike is an actor preparing for the role of a lifetime (as Batman!); Harvey is still the best Closer in the city working for Pearson Hardman and pissed off about losing his parking space to a Batman reboot.
Relationships: Mike Ross/Harvey Specter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 166
Collections: Heart Attack Exchange 2020





	Normal People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dressedupasmyself](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dressedupasmyself/gifts).



> I forget how much I love this show! I hope you enjoy this :).
> 
> Belated, but my thanks to StripySock and Kate!

“You have got to be kidding me.” Fighting the urge to throw up his hands in disbelief, Harvey shoved them into his pockets, careful not to bust a seam. “Are we really so goddamn broke we have to rent out our garage? Jessica, please tell me you’re joking.” 

Harvey had more to say, but Jessica shushed him with a look. It wasn’t quite a glare, but it was effective all the same. She stood up and poured herself some water. Harvey briefly looked down at her heels and wondered about the last time she took them off. Like everyone else at Pearson Hardman (Harvey included), Jessica hadn’t slept a wink since the DoJ stormed the firm and frogmarched Daniel Hardman out of his office. It was just that Jessica was better at hiding it than most people. Harvey liked to think that he was the same. 

“Do I look like I’m joking, Harvey?” 

“No, not really,” Harvey sighed. “But still, you rented out our parking garage so that a bunch of second-rate Hollywood types could make a movie? It better be a hell of a movie. Where am I supposed to park?” 

Jessica waited for a second and pointedly ignored his complaint about parking. “It’s a _Batman_ reboot. A lot of trendy names are attached to the project. Catch my drift?”

Harvey had a lot of feelings about the possibility of yet another _Batman_ reboot, but he doubted Jessica was interested in hearing about them. Plus, Harvey didn’t do feelings. He said, “You’re hoping some of them will sign with us.”

“‘Some’ would be nice,” Jessica agreed, nodding. “But right now? I’m interested in one person. The face of their franchise. Their golden goose.” As she spoke, Jessica moved swiftly to her desk and Harvey spotted a dark blue folder bearing the Pearson Hardman logo on the top left hand corner. He picked up the folder and opened it to find a professional headshot of some kid, blue-eyed, blond, along with what looked like the kid’s financials, which looked—average, at best. 

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “ _This_ is what you’re calling a golden goose? Jesus, we must really be in the toilet. This—Mike Ross doesn’t even own a car. And he lives in Brooklyn.” 

“The nice part of Brooklyn. Let me remind you _I’m_ from Brooklyn?” Jessica was quick to correct him. “I think I’ve even been down his street. It’s gorgeous. Very…” Here, she trailed off, looking for a word. “Leafy.”

“Leafy?” 

“Anyway, I have it on good authority that it’ll be a box office success and the studio is falling all over themselves to greenlight four sequels all at once.” Jessica smiled at him, and it was one of those smiles Harvey knew he couldn’t argue against. “I had Donna make you and Mike Ross a reservation. He’s very excited to meet you. I think the two of you will have a lot in common.” 

Harvey excused himself and tried not to think about the fact that he wasn’t going to get to use his parking space for not one, but four fucking years. 

Donna was possibly on her third ill-advised skinny latte (complete with added whipped cream and sugar), or maybe she was just vibrating in her chair for no reason, perhaps she needed to pee. Whatever it was, Harvey tried to tell himself he wasn’t interested. But Donna being Donna, she just kept looking at him over the rim of her paper cup until Harvey let himself be drawn in. 

Again.

“What are you so happy about?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Donna said, making a show of turning back to her computer. “Hey, when you meet up with Mike Ross tonight, will you get his autograph?” 

Harvey blanched, “Get his what now?” Donna was notoriously selective about who and what she liked, and Harvey had a hard time believing that Mike Ross and his kid haircut would make the list.

“Not for me. For my niece. She loves Mike’s show on the Disney Channel. ”

“Right.” The more Harvey thought about it, the more he didn’t want to take this meeting. “It never occurred to you to tell Jessica I had plans tonight?” 

“She made me pull up your calendar while I made the call,” Donna told him, swiveling around in her chair again. “What else was I supposed to do? And Mike answered his own phone and everything, was very polite to me. He also sounded very excited to meet you. Said he read several of your pieces in the _Harvard Law Review_.”

“Mike Ross reads the _Harvard Law Review_.” This time, Harvey barely managed to contain his surprise. “...And is on the Disney Channel?” 

“That was years ago,” Donna said, with a flip of her hair. “Keep up. Don’t forget about the autograph, okay?” 

Harvey knew it was Mike Ross right when the kid walked in. Not because he recognized him from his headshot, but because he walked into one of the finest restaurants in New York with a bike helmet under one arm and sunglasses tucked neatly in his collar. At least Mike was wearing a suit, but not a tie. The maître d' relieved him of his coat and helmet, then waved vaguely in the direction of Harvey’s table. 

Mike’s face lit up at once as he strode up to the table. He extended his hand. “Hi, Mike Ross? You must be Harvey. So nice to finally meet you.” 

That headshot in Jessica’s folder must have been several years old—not that Mike had changed much. His jaw was better defined than the photo led one to believe, and there was the slightest crinkle around his eyes when he smiled. And his eyes were still the same shade of bright blue. Harvey didn’t get to where he was by not noticing the details. He stood, and after a moment of hesitation took Mike’s proffered hand. Mike had a sure grip, something that Harvey almost wasn’t expecting. 

“I am. Have we crossed paths somewhere? I was under the impression that you asked for me.” 

Mike sat down across from Harvey and tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the cover of the menu. “You represented a friend of mine in a libel suit against a paper last year. Did a good job, too. I thought I’d see what the fuss was about.” 

Harvey asked, “Who’s your friend?” 

“You really handled that many libel suits last year, you can’t even remember my friend’s name?” Mike quirked an eyebrow. “That’s. Wow.” 

“Does your friend pay us a retainer?” 

Mike shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

“Then no wonder I don’t recall.” Harvey was about to say something else too, but then he remembered he was supposed to be playing nice with Mike Ross and maybe wooing him as a client too. Still, there was something about Mike Ross’s grin that made Harvey want to push just a little further. Mike’s good, unflappable mood was in sharp contrast to Harvey’s own frustration. It seemed unfair, so Harvey said, “Also, you do know you’re late? Did you bike here?” 

“I don’t drive,” Mike said, “Donna was nice enough to pick a place near me. Otherwise I would have had to take a cab.” A shadow of something or the other flitted across his face, too quick for Harvey to catch its meaning.

Their table had a nice view of the East River, with lights from still awake buildings dancing on the water’s surface. It was a good excuse for Harvey to look away, a moment after Mike’s eyes slid away from his to study the pre-fixe menu. It then occurred to Harvey that Donna might have picked this particular restaurant for more than one reason. Sure, it served top of the line, imaginative American cuisine and had earned a Michelin star, but it was also touted as one of the most romantic restaurants in the city. Usually, Harvey could count on his secretary to be discreet and subtle, but now he just felt weirdly prostituted. 

“Anyway, I’m sorry I’m late,” Mike said, pushing the menu away and adjusting his collar, as if he’d just noticed that it was wrinkled. “I was helping a friend move into her apartment. Might have lost track of time.” 

“Don’t they have moving companies for that?” Harvey thought it was a worthwhile question, considering Mike had just admitted that he didn’t drive. 

Mike gave him a look and opened his mouth, but at that moment, a waiter wandered by and asked if they’d had a chance to peruse the wine program. From the moment Mike had walked in, Harvey couldn’t exactly picture the guy as an _actor_ , but the way he hitched that smile on in the nick of time left Harvey with the vaguest sense of whiplash. Mike said, “So sue me, maybe I just felt like doing something nice.” So saying, Mike turned his attention to the waiter. “I’ll leave that to my distinguished company.” 

“You sure?” Harvey said, deciding to ignore the jab for now. 

“Yeah.” Mike shrugged. “More of a beer guy, anyway. But I have learned not to be picky.” 

Now that was not so surprising. Harvey chose a full-bodied Bordeaux and waved the waiter away. Once the waiter was out of earshot, he turned his attention back to Mike again. “Is this the same friend who sued a paper for libel?” 

“I have more than one friend,” Mike said. “I’m a normal person.” 

“Normal is boring,” Harvey leaned forward, as if sharing a great secret. “And sitting here with me on a Wednesday evening, you don’t get to say that you’re normal.” 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” said Mike. He sounded like he’d heard this line before and all right, was indulging Harvey in his routine.

Harvey surprised himself and said, “Only the pretty ones.” 

And maybe he’d surprised Mike, because the kid had to take a moment to collect himself, as not to be outdone. Mike slid forward, stopping just short of touching Harvey’s arm. He lifted one side of his mouth. “Okay, I’ll bite. What the hell does that make you, then?” 

“You mean who. I’m Harvey fucking Specter,” Harvey said, and for the first time in a week since the Hardman mess, he believed it. Probably because Mike looked pretty damn impressed with him. The wine showed up then, and not a moment too soon.

“Honest,” Mike said, carefully cutting into his fillet steak, which he’d opted to have medium rare. He hadn’t been terribly enthusiastic about the oysters in red wine dressing or the duck and sour cherry terrine that had followed. However, the kid was loving his steak and just about managing not to talk with his mouth full. “Me and the acting thing was kind of an accident.” This was clearly a dependable story for Mike, one that he’d dined out on again and again. He leaned back in his chair and looked comfortable, continuing, “You should have seen how pissed the director was when I bulldozed my way through his entire set.” 

“Bulldozed?”

“Look, I was sixteen and late for my paper route,” Mike said. “There was this shortcut through an alley near my grandmother’s place that was really handy, so long as you avoided everyone’s garbage cans, you’re home free in a couple of seconds. But then there was this film crew. I was just one skinny kid on a bike, I thought could get past them.” 

“But you didn’t and you ruined everything.” As soon as Harvey said those words, he wished for a second that they’d come out differently. Usually, Harvey wouldn’t think twice about speaking this way to a client; after all, it showed that he was blunt, brutally honest, and everything that a client could ever want in an attorney. But for a moment, he imagined Mike looking like a wounded puppy. 

Part of Harvey wondered now too, if Mike had ever sued anyone for libel for saying shit about him. If the guy was in the public eye, then he would have had to deal with that sort of thing from time to time. 

“You wish.” Mike smirked, reaching for his glass of wine. “But I did get a different summer job after that. Apparently I broke this camera worth a lot of money. The director liked my face and insisted I work it off.” 

Harvey nodded. “Right.” 

“I sometimes think.” Mike turned towards the view of the river now, lost in thought. Their next course was served and Mike didn’t seem to notice when his mint coconut sorbet was starting to melt. 

Finally, Harvey prompted him, “Think what?” 

“Oh,” Mike started, blinking briefly, as he was only seeing Harvey for the very first time. Then he made a slightly surprised face at his sorbet. He stuck a spoon in it, and looked at Harvey again. “Sorry, just...if I hadn’t taken the shortcut that day, I might have, I don’t know. Done something else.” 

“Aren’t you some kind of genius,” said Harvey. “Like what?” 

“Who knows?” Mike grinned. “I might still surprise you yet.” 

After dinner, Mike suggested they get a beer from the sports bar on the next block. Harvey watched as Mike unlocked his bike and adjusted the chin strap on his helmet. “You’re seriously going to wear a helmet just walking down the sidewalk.” It wasn’t a question.

But Mike still seemed to take it in stride, wheeling his bike next to him as he walked. “It’s better than having both of my hands busy.” He demonstrated by shoving his free hand into his coat pocket. “And I don’t have to worry about anything if I ever walk into a pole.”

“That happen a lot?” 

Mike laughed. “Just once or twice, enough that I watch out for it now. This’ll be off the moment we go in, don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.” 

Harvey turned his eyes so that he looked ahead. “Who says you’re embarrassing me?” It was not entirely untrue, but a.) it suddenly felt cruel to admit it; Harvey hardly thought himself to be cruel, just pragmatic, and b.) it suddenly felt as if Mike had seen right through him with that throwaway line and it didn’t leave Harvey with the greatest feeling.

They now stood together in front of the bar entrance, reasonably busy for a weeknight, and Mike excused himself again to go lock up his bike again. This time, he locked his helmet up, too. Once he was satisfied, he straightened up again. His voice still light, Mike said, “ I don’t know you at all, right, Harvey? But it’s not like I don’t know people _like_ you. You weird hotshot types.”

Harvey had a lot of things he could have said to that, but for the time being, he followed Mike into the bar and let the kid buy him a beer. Mike paid cash and thanked the bartender by name. The guy winked, as if sharing an inside joke with him, and didn’t bother shooting Harvey a glance.

It wasn’t until they’d found a couple of stools away from the bar that Harvey skimmed the top of his beer and fixed Mike with a look. “...Really? ‘You weird hotshot types. What type’s that?’” 

Mike drank some of his beer. There was a watchful glint in his eyes, bright and alert, but there was also the other part of him that was relaxed, taking advantage of what seemed like home turf. “The type that walks into a place like this and thinks, ‘I could buy this place.’ Even if you’re like, not famous or anything.”

Harvey looked around. “I wouldn’t buy this place even if you paid me. It’d be too much trouble to get through all the health and safety violations.” 

Without missing a beat, Mike said, “Wow, you’re a bigger asshole than I thought. Have some more credit.” 

Harvey opened his mouth to protest, but then decided against it. Instead, he asked, “What about you, Mr. Famous?” 

Mike gestured around the buzz of people around them. It was a quick wave of his hand, as if he was almost afraid that the sudden movement might draw people’s attention to him; a learned kind of confidence that wasn’t quite natural, in the end. “I might kind of act for a living, but I wouldn’t call myself famous or anything. Lindsay Lohan still gets mobbed whenever she goes to pick up her pills at the drugstore. I think the best I ever got was someone saying that I looked like a young Brad Pitt.” 

“Is this some sort of humble-brag where you’re trying to tell me you know Lindsay Lohan?” Harvey tilted his head. “And I don’t see it.” 

“Me neither,” Mike agreed. “And I wasn’t bragging about anything. I did work with Lindsay once, but I don’t remember much. It was just an example of you know, general famousness.” He hurried over the last part and cleared his throat. “Listen, Harvey.” 

Something in Mike’s tone had changed, either that, or it’d been simmering underneath the surface all evening and had just now come to the fore. Whichever way it had Harvey’s complete attention. “...Yes?”

Mike opened his mouth and then closed it again. Then he drank more beer before speaking. “I’m sorry.” 

This was not a good start to any conversation, but Harvey Specter was not the best Closer in New York for nothing. He was used to doors closing before he found a way to get them opened again; Harvey kept his cool and waited a moment as to exude a measure of calm. “About?” 

“I know Jessica wants me to sign with Pearson Hardman,” Mike said. “She said you’re the best the firm has to offer, and that you’d take good care of me.” 

“Oh, she actually said that.” 

“Not exactly, Donna said she said that.”

Harvey couldn’t exactly figure out if that was better or worse. What he could figure out was that although it was probably a terrible idea to get another beer, he wanted one anyway; it wasn’t every day that someone dared to call him an asshole. It was also not every day that Harvey was intrigued by this prospect. He tapped Mike’s near empty beer. “...Same again?” 

Mike said, a touch amused, “Getting me drunk is not going to make me sign with you.” 

Harvey made a noise in his throat; this time, he meant for it to be taken unkindly. He hated going to anyone cap in hand, but in a way, the wheels had already come off with Mike and it was a relief to be honest. “If you were that easy, I wouldn’t want you as a client. —I’ll be right back.” 

“But you know you’ll sign with us anyway,” Harvey said. He did feel better with a fresh beer in hand and there was a baseball game on the nearest television. 

“I haven’t had proper representation in about a decade.” Mike shrugged. “I’ve been doing okay by myself so far. You’re gonna have to do better than that.” 

“This sounds like you haven’t worked in about a decade. Is your agent tearing his hair out? Who even looks over your contracts?” 

“I do,” Mike said, as if it should be obvious. “Since I’m just doing bit parts, I can just work through them. Most are pretty boilerplate anyway, not that I need to tell you that. Once you’ve read one, you’ve read them all, although some shows are really stingy about giving you sick days.” 

Harvey had had enough alcohol in his system by now to go with the flow. Despite the strange vibes of the evening, he had to admit he was having a nice time, even if he wasn’t going to acknowledge it to the rest of the office tomorrow. Now that he thought about it, Mike looking over his own contracts wasn’t even that weird, just stupid. He kept that to himself. “So _Batman_ is a bit part? Adam West is turning over in his grave.” 

“That’s totally not what I said.” Mike rolled his eyes. “And I still think Keaton’s better, Tim Burton or no.”

“I think the world doesn’t need another _Batman_ reboot,” Harvey said. He mostly didn't mean to say that out loud, but he was a little curious to gauge Mike’s reaction. “And I say that as somebody who loves Batman.” 

“So Clooney can exist and I can’t?” 

“Really.”

“Well,” Mike raised both of his eyebrows this time before he took a long swig of his beer. “I _was_ going to go with Ben Affleck, but I didn’t want you to think I was taking a cheap shot.” 

“I probably would have thought that, yeah,” Harvey said. 

Mike made a noise in his throat, almost as if he were trying to hide a laugh. “You don’t know a damn thing about my movie, don’t you?” 

Harvey was not the best at picking his battles, especially recently, but thankfully, he had a beer to distract him this time around. “I know enough about Batman,” Harvey said finally, striking the most neutral tone he could manage. “Why don’t you try me?” 

“Okay.” Mike nodded. He leaned closer to Harvey now, shifting angles just so that the edge of his elbow bumped Harvey’s, but it was all over so quick that Harvey couldn’t tell whether it was an accident or not. “First off, I’m not Bruce Wayne.” 

“You better not be,” Harvey said, looking at him up and down. 

“Oh, shut up.” Mike didn’t miss a beat, knocking Harvey’s elbow meaningfully. Maybe this time, it wasn't an accident. As much as Mike was learning about him, Harvey thought too that he was picking up a thing or two about Mike; so far, the guy was going way out of his way to assure Harvey that he did nearly everything by accident. “I’m still Batman.” 

“Yeah, not seeing that either.” 

“You’re not really supposed to, until like, the second movie? The first movie’s all pretty standard origin movie stuff.” 

Now Harvey saw his chance. “Should you be saying stuff like that about your own movie?”

“It depends,” Mike said, meeting him stare for stare. “Are you going to be selling my private opinions to _TMZ_ like some kind of asshole?” 

‘Sure, I’m a kind of asshole.” Harvey said, punctuating the statement with a shrug of his own. “But not that kind. Though if you sign with me, you’d know for sure.” 

“Blackmail.” Mike nodded. “Cute.” 

“Say that any louder and I can sue you for slander.” Harvey gave him a look. “It’s called an incentive. This isn’t TV.” 

Mike didn’t look completely convinced, but he tapped his thumb idly on the neck of his beer bottle. “Okay. What if I told you I’d sign with you, but I have a condition?” 

Harvey sat up straighter on his stool, as a means of reminding himself to pay attention. No doubt Mike was gearing up to pitch this as a casual coincidence—an “oops, I guess this is something I just thought up, but doesn’t it totally work?” Harvey was onto him now. 

Mike said, “I’m playing Harvey Dent. Which means I’ll spend most of my time as an attorney. So maybe you let me follow you around for a few cases when I’m not filming. Dom’s really into that method acting shit so he’ll love it.”

“Dom?” 

“Dominic Barone, the director? He usually does movies about cars, but he and Vin Diesel need a break from each other so he’s doing this.” Mike snorted. “Between you and me, I think that’s hilarious.” 

“You know what’s hilarious? You forgetting that attorney-client confidentiality is a thing. I’m not just going to let you follow me around.” 

“Jessica said it’s not a problem if I sign some stuff. She said I could come into the office and do it tomorrow.” 

Harvey narrowed his eyes. “You mean you already cleared it with her?” 

Mike was smiling a very nice little _fucking got you_ smile. “Donna helped. I’ve learned to do nothing without clearing it with the hotshots upstairs. It’s a bit of a Pavlovian thing. Jessica did say you might not say yes. So like, don’t feel like you have to, or anything.” 

“The hell she did,” Harvey exhaled deeply. Clearly, he too, needed more sleep, or else he could have seen this coming a mile away. “Will you at least buy me a whiskey before you fuck me?” 

“Sure,” Mike said agreeably, sliding off his stool. “Big one for the big boss. I’ll be right back.” 

Harvey couldn’t help but call after him: “And for the record, I think Harvey Dent would make a terrible Batman.” 

Harvey had a mild headache the next morning when he made it into the office, but otherwise, he was feeling fine. Headaches were part and parcel of a slightly rowdy night with potential clients and of course Harvey was used to them. At this point and time, he was craving familiarity (and also 10 percent of his salary, not that he was going to tell anyone either of those things). 

“Good morning,” Donna said, giving him one of those once-overs that made Harvey wonder if he’d forgotten to brush his teeth. “...Date went well then?” 

“What date?” 

“Mike Ross is in Jessica’s office right now signing his life over. Guess you closed him.”

_Oh, shit._

Donna looked like she had more to say, and Harvey was just about to apologize for forgetting Mike’s autograph for her niece, but then he was suddenly in a hurry t. 

Jessica’s office was not that far from his own, but by the time Harvey got there, the funny feeling at the pit of his stomach shot straight up to his throat because 

1.) Mike, in contrast to last night, was wearing a nice dark blue suit with a nice tie. Oh, so the kid did own a tie. The more Harvey thought about it, the more he was convinced that last night had to be some sort of performance piece. 

2.) Jessica was smiling as Mike handed over what was probably a borrowed pen. In light of the firm’s recent troubles, the only reason Jessica had to smile that wide was if she’d won the lottery.

Before Harvey could make his presence known, Jessica glanced up from Mike’s paperwork and waved him in. His glare seemed to have done nothing to dampen Jessica’s good spirits. In lieu of hello, she said, “And this is what you get for not hiring an associate. I’ve been after you to do that for months.” 

“And your solution is...what? Him? Mike’s not even a real lawyer,” Harvey said.

“I don’t need to be a real lawyer,” Mike said. He had his arms crossed and there wasn’t a hint of a smirk anywhere near his mouth. These were the strangest acting chops Harvey had ever seen. Mike was actually looking at him earnestly, like a puppy looking at his favorite chew toy. “I like to read. Try me.” 

“Try you?”

Mike shrugged, the gesture was familiar enough to Harvey by now, and so was the suspicion that came right along with it. “Yeah, like pull up the Gettysburg address and ask me to start anywhere. Or something.”

Harvey looked towards Jessica for—something; he suddenly wasn’t sure what. Harvey rather prided himself on being her right hand. He’d always been able to anticipate what she wanted but now Mike was throwing all that off-kilter. She nodded back, even though the motion wasn’t exactly encouraging. It was only morning, Jessica probably had a full day ahead of her and wanted both of them out of her office. 

Harvey rolled his eyes and got out his phone. “The Gettysburg Address. Okay.” Skimming the text, Harvey began, “‘But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground—”

Without missing a beat, Mike continued, “‘The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly—”

Harvey interrupted him, he got the idea. “Why do you know the Gettysburg Address word for word?”

“I read it in the fourth grade. Once I understand something, I never forget it.” Mike set his chin a little stubbornly, like he had something to prove. Harvey had to remind himself not to be too impressed. 

Harvey looked at his watch and sighed. “I’m going to be late for court. Are you coming or not?” 

“I always really like ridealongs,” Mike said, keeping pace with Harvey, who could no longer just go down to the parking lot and instead, had to walk an entire half block to where he had been relegated to streetside parking. “I always learn a lot from them.”

“You do realize that since we’re going to the courthouse what you just said makes no sense.”

“My bad,” Mike said, still cheerfully. “I play a lot of cops. It’s my first try at being a lawyer. Wait no, I lie. I think I was a lawyer and a cop once. But then my scene got cut. They wrote me out, said I didn’t fit in just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Harvey fixed him with a long look before turning his attention to the road. 

Mike said, “What?”

“If I fuck up today, my client goes to jail, Mike. Not pretend Hollywood jail. Actually jail.”

Mike looked away from him and there was a vague start of a smirk at the edge of his mouth. “So don’t fuck up.”

“I’m not going to,” Harvey said. “So long as you keep your damn mouth shut.” He’d never been on a losing streak before, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now.

Harvey’s client was a Ms. Gabby Stone. Two weeks ago, she’d been arrested for insider trading and today, she was free. Not that Harvey had thought that she was going to be anything other than a free woman. 

As they stood on the steps of the courthouse, between profuse thanks, Gabby also asked Mike to sign the back of a business card. Her kid cousin would totally get a kick out of it. Mike appeared surprised to be asked, but obliged, balancing the card very carefully on his knee as he scribbled his name on it. He looked as though he’d had plenty of practice signing things on the fly. 

Harvey briefly watched Gabby disappear around the corner, but mostly he was watching Mike; Mike who was suddenly in a hurry to tuck away his pen again. Harvey elbowed him slightly to get his attention. “...I’ll probably regret asking, but what’s your show on Disney about?”

Mike colored a little at this, and instead of shrugging it off, he did the opposite, hunching forward. It was almost like he thought that by making himself smaller, Harvey’s question would eventually go away. 

But that was fine too. Awkward silences were often a lawyer’s secret weapon, whether deployed for maximum effect at a deposition hearing or for a lingering buildup in front of a jury. Something else Harvey was comfortable doing, he had all the patience in the world while Mike fidgeted and looked down at his shoes.

Finally, Mike said, “Really?” Obviously he was playing for time. “You could have asked me anything in the world, and you ask me that.”

Mike started for Harvey’s car at a pretty good clip, probably in a bid to avoid Harvey’s smirk, but Harvey was hardly going to let the kid get away from him just that. It was easy for him to catch up to Mike in a few strides. “Why _shouldn’t_ I ask you that, Mike?” 

“Because it is irrelevant, your Honor?” 

“God as my witness, I never want to be a judge.” Just the thought of it made Harvey shudder. 

“Why?” 

“Now _that’s_ irrelevant, and stop changing the subject.” Once they’d reached the car, Harvey fished out his keys and settled in the driver’s seat. The seat belt on the passenger’s side got a little temperamental sometimes and he was glad to see Mike take his time. “Trust me, when Donna takes an interest in a Disney show, it’s relevant.” 

Mike did a double take and narrowed his eyes. “ _Donna_ knows about my show.” 

Harvey shrugged. He started the car, and maneuvered them into the road, content to let silence do its good work again. 

Finally, Mike sighed noisily and ran a hand through his hair. “It was called _Spy Life_. My TV uncle died in it and I worked for the CIA pretending to be...stuff. It was supposed to be an adaptation of something, but we couldn’t get the rights. It ran for three seasons and in the season finale, I died.” 

Harvey blinked. “I’m sorry? You...died in the series finale of a Disney show. Is that a thing now?”

Mike snorted. “Haven’t you ever watched a Disney film? People die all the time.”

“You better not say Mufasa,” Harvey said. 

Mike opened his mouth and then closed it again. “But they did bring me back at the end, after the credits. Said they wanted to keep things open for a movie.” 

“And did you do a movie?” 

Mike shrugged. “They offered. Said Ethan Ryder—my character—could have a chance to redeem himself in theatres. I declined.” 

“Why?” Off the top of his head, Harvey could think of several reasons, but it suddenly felt very important that he hear this from the horse’s mouth. 

“I decline to answer on the grounds that I have a right not to incriminate myself according to the fifth amendment,” Mike said, and a strange, heavy silence fell over the car before he cleared his throat. “What do you think? I’ll be doing my first scene tonight.”

“In our garage, right.” In their garage, where Harvey still couldn’t park. That soured his good mood from his win almost immediately. But then he was distracted again: “Wait, wait. Was that an actual line from your movie?” 

Mike nodded. “Yeah, when Dent gets pulled over by the cops. They don’t recognize him though, he’s wearing a ski mask.” 

“...I see. It’s kind of wordy.” 

“I think so too. But if I say anything now, Dom will stress again and go yell at the script guy. I don’t think the script guy can take it.” Mike leaned his cheek against his palm and stared listlessly out the window. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Harvey glanced over at him before rounding a corner, the towering glinting office building coming up ahead. He said, “You can ask.”

“Why won’t you hire an associate? Would have thought you’d love having a little mini-me to boss around.” 

His first instinct was to tell Mike that it was none of his business. Though Harvey thought about it again, and found himself once again intrigued by Mike’s knack for detail. It was not the first time Jessica had given him grief about not hiring an associate, but whereas everyone at the firm tended to ignore that little detail or indeed, give him a wide berth for other reasons, no one had ever thought to ask Harvey _why_.

But here Mike was, asking. Harvey slowed down by the curb and put the car in park. Before he could really help it, the truth slipped out of his mouth and it didn’t taste terrible: “It’s no fun ordering around someone who can’t keep up.” 

Mike appeared to think about it, and tilted his head from side to side, as if willing the information to seep through every cranny of his mind before he spoke again. “Don’t you work with people who went to Harvard?”

“Sometimes that has nothing to do with anything.” 

“So you just find someone who can keep up,” Mike said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “Donna keeps up.” 

“That’s different.” 

Mike shrugged. He moved to get out of the car, then seemed to remember something and ducked back in, gesturing. “Is...um, is this where you’re parking?” 

“It’s not, actually. Normally I’d park in our garage?” Harvey gave him a long look.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike said, nodding. “Well, do you still want to park there? You can try this taco truck that everyone is obsessed with.” 

In a matter of days, the parking garage looked like it’d been transformed. Harvey couldn’t quite decide for himself, whether Jessica had talked up the garage’s interior possibilities or perhaps the studio was simply too cheap to get someplace else. 

The place was awash with an excited buzz, busy for the sake of being busy. Harvey spotted the food truck lurking in a corner. 

“Cut!” Someone yelled and the bright flash of a camera went off in Harvey’s face. That same someone, a middle-aged man a handful of years older than Harvey, with graying hair and bright angry eyes, wasted no time striding up to the side of Harvey’s car and banging on the driver’s side window with the flat of his palm. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

(Or something to that effect, probably.) 

Mike muttered a, “Sorry, Dom’s kind of like that.” before getting out of the car to fend off his director. “—Hey, hey, Dom. It’s just me. I made Harvey drive me in here.”

Dom gave him an unamused look. 

Mike tried again: “...I talked up the tacos we get?” 

A guy in a suit and slicked back hair said, “You don’t even like the tacos, Mike.” 

Mike said, a little defensively, “Yeah, but Harvey might. I wasn’t talking about me, was I, Greg?” 

Being an attorney meant that Harvey was used to speaking for other people; more importantly, he was used to speaking for himself. It was odd now, for Harvey to witness Mike supposedly speaking for him. Although he was curious about these food truck tacos that Mike (allegedly) didn’t like, Harvey could admit to himself that he was only curious because Mike didn’t like them. He didn’t have strong feelings towards tacos either way. 

Harvey got out of the car and crossed over in a few strides to where Mike stood. He touched Mike on the shoulder to get his attention. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a meeting in a few anyway. Will you let me know if you want a ride home?” 

Okay. Harvey didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. 

But Mike looked at him and smiled. Not one of those lilted gotcha grins. A real smile. “I’ll be late. If it’s not too much trouble.” 

Harvey made a sound in his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets, eager to downplay the offer—at least, in front of other people. “You make it sound as if I don’t work late. Anyway, I’ll see you.” 

“Are those the Brolin briefs? Jessica said she wouldn’t be needing those until next week, right?” 

It was late, just past nine as Donna stuck her head into his office. She had her coat and purse, ready to head off. Normally, Harvey wouldn’t be here when she left, but Dom had made it crystal clear to him that he wasn’t allowed back into the garage to pick up his car until filming had wrapped for the night. 

“If I go through them now, I won’t have to go through them next week. If you don’t mind,” Harvey said. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. But for some reason, Donna was still standing there. She was almost as good as Harvey at getting what she wanted. After all, she’d learnt from the best. 

Finally, Harvey sighed, although he was hardly going to give her the satisfaction of looking up. “What?” 

Donna got right to it: “You’re giving Mike a ride home, aren’t you?” 

“I,” Harvey started to explain how he’d decided to park his car in the garage, because he was a Senior Partner who could park wherever he damn well pleased. But then, it _was_ late and Harvey really was going through the briefs so he could save himself the headache on Monday. He cut to the chase too. “How do you know that?” 

“I’m Donna,” she said, as if Harvey needed reminding. “I know everything, remember?” Of course she did. 

“There’s nothing wrong with me giving Mike a ride home.” For reasons that seemed too complicated to parse, Harvey suddenly felt as if he had to defend himself. But Donna probably knew why, too. 

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it, Harvey,” Donna said, the mildest of smirks pulling at the edges of her mouth. She had the decency to tuck it back before she continued, “I think it’s...kind of nice actually. That lone wolf thing you like doing must get old.” 

“I don’t _like_ doing it. Also, it’s not as if I consider it a thing,” Harvey called after her as she left her position by the door to walk towards the elevators. 

Donna turned and studied him through the glass walls of his office. She said, “Aren’t you just proving my point?” 

“Come back in here for a second.” 

“Harvey, I have to go home.” 

“Just for a second.” 

Harvey rather prided himself on having an immaculate poker face, honed by hours of face-to-face meetings with all manners of clients and foes, and of course, the occasional poker game to round things out just right. 

He certainly didn’t think he gave anything away, but the way Donna’s expression turned a neat-180 was not the most reassuring. But maybe it could have been worse. It got her back into the office and seated in the chair opposite his desk. 

Donna said, “Okay, what?” 

“...Does Mike actually die on the last episode of his Disney show? It just seems, I don’t know. Dark.” 

“Oh, that.” Donna got comfortable, leaning her elbows on the desk. “Why do you want to know _that_?” 

Harvey tried, “Because you’re Donna and you know things?” 

“Flattery gets you nowhere, even if you’re Harvey,” Donna said. She almost looked as if she’d like to pat him on the head, and Harvey nearly let out a breath of relief when she didn’t. “It was a bit of a saga when it all first happened. Between you and me, I’m kind of surprised that Mike’s this well-adjusted.”

Harvey said, “Oh.”

Donna got up from her seat again, like she’d just made up her mind not to indulge Harvey quite so much. She said, adjusting the strap of her purse, “If you care that much, you could always Google it. I’d take _TMZ_ with ten grains of salt but the _USWeekly_ report’s actually pretty fair, even sympathetic.” 

Harvey glanced around the various stacks of papers on his desk. “Do I look like I have time to Google anything?” 

Donna was heading out of his office again. This time, she didn’t bother turning around. “If you had the time to ask me, Harvey, just a thought, maybe you could make some time to ask Mike.” 

“Why are you still here?” 

Harvey could have asked Jessica the same question, but he saved his breath. He looked at her up and down, wondering what kind of test this was. Filming of _Batman_ was well under way in the parking garage, although according to Mike, they sometimes attended day shoots in other locations. For how particular Dom was, filming was flying along at pace and the movie was approaching its last weeks of filming. 

Dominic Barone still didn’t like Harvey parking where he parked, but had to admit that Mike’s various day trips to the courthouse and hanging around Harvey’s office reading reams of by-laws and precedent was giving Mike a certain “lawyerly” vibe. Dom couldn’t exactly fault that. Mike was right, Dom did have a thing for method acting, or, as he liked to put it, “Doing things the right way, the way things are supposed to be done.” 

As for Harvey, he still couldn’t quite believe that Mike would sit quietly for a couple of hours buried in paper, and then he’d go film his scenes at night. After that, Harvey would drive him home, but Mike would never set foot in his apartment building until Harvey turned the corner.

At least, that was what Harvey thought. 

“I’m working.” He was working with a tumbler of whiskey nearby, but it was Friday, and Mike was already later than he’d said he’d be. 

Jessica didn’t look convinced. She looked between Harvey’s whiskey and his laptop and clearly wisely decided to drop the subject. She wasn’t here for a chat after all, this time of night. Harvey knew her, and knew she just wanted to get in and out.

“What’re you doing tomorrow evening?” 

“I assume you’re going to tell me.” 

“I need you to go to Robert Stensland’s charity ball in the Hamptons,” Jessica said, taking out a piece of paper with an address on it. “I’d go myself but something came up.” 

In Jessica’s vocabulary, “something came up” could have meant anything, from “I forgot to pick up my dog from dog daycare” to “I’m about to have my spleen removed; I might be five minutes late.” 

Mostly of the time, Harvey didn’t want to know, and this was one of those times because—

“...Mike? What the hell happened to you?” 

Mike was dressed in his suit, the dark navy number he’d worn from this morning. Dent never wore colors like that, Harvey was learning. Mike seemed to keep a very firm line between his time on set and everything else. What Harvey admired more, was perhaps Mike’s ability to convince Dom and the myriad of producers to toe the line. The guy really was wasted as an actor. 

However, neither Harvey nor, it seemed, Jessica, had missed Mike’s black eye. It wasn’t something he’d sported this morning (good thing too, or else Harvey wouldn’t have let him anywhere near a courtroom).

“Hi, Harvey. Jessica.” Mike sidestepped the question just as easily as he avoided Jessica to step into Harvey’s office. His attention was immediately on Harvey’s half-drunk tumbler, a hopeful glint lighting up his otherwise exhausted expression. “That for me?” 

Harvey smirked, reaching for the glass to prove a point. He emptied the glass and set it back down. “Didn’t know you were old enough to drink the hard stuff.” 

Mike opened his mouth, presumably to protest, only to be interrupted by a slight cough from Jessica’s direction. 

Quickly, Harvey swiped the piece of paper with the Hamptons address on it off of his desk. He said, “And I um, will go to the Hamptons tomorrow, yes, fine. When does it start?” 

“Seven sharp,” Jessica said. With a glance over at Mike, her mouth twitching before she added, “Take Mike, if you’d like. Provided he does something about that eye. Wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression now, would we?” 

With that, Jessica was off, and left both Harvey and Mike staring after her as she headed towards the elevators. Finally, Mike seemed to come back to himself again and closed the door to Harvey’s office before he helped himself to a seat in Harvey’s lounge chair. It was possibly the least practical piece of furniture in the office and didn’t exactly go with the rest of the decor. Donna had mentioned several times with decreasing subtlety each time that the lounge chair wouldn’t look out of place in a frat house, but Harvey just hadn’t gotten the chance nor the time to get rid of it. 

Harvey watched with some interest as Mike made himself comfortable, until Mike seemed to forget and put a tired hand across his eyes and flinched.

“What did you do, walk into a pole?”

“Ha, good one,” Mike snorted, adjusting himself a little in the lounge chair so he could meet Harvey’s gaze. “I’m surprised you remembered that.” 

Harvey reached for his tumbler before realizing that he’d emptied it a moment before. As he pulled back, he was careful to do so with limited fanfare so that Mike might not notice. It was a tossup, Harvey thought, whether the guy did or not. It looked like one hell of a black eye. Harvey said, “I might not have a photographic memory, Mike, but I’m not an idiot.” 

“I never said you were.” Mike turned away from him to stare up towards the ceiling again. “Anyway, this happens sometimes. Hazards of the job. One of the stunt guys punched me in the face a little too hard. It happens all the time.” 

“Does it?” Harvey stood up, with the tumbler in hand and crossed the length of his office and studied the few bottles of whiskey he had on display next to an ice machine. Some of the bottles were opened, some weren’t. He selected what he’d been drinking before, Macallan 12, and half-filled his glass. On second thought, Harvey tipped a bit more in before he put the whiskey back in its rightful place before taking a seat next to Mike on the lounge chair. 

“Yeah, it does. But it’s fine. The paramedic did look at it.” 

Harvey handed him the glass, which Mike only took after staring at it suspiciously for a couple of seconds.

Harvey nudged him near the bend of his knee. “What? You saw me pour it. Or are you going to give me shit about how I don’t keep beer at the office?” 

Mike looked hopeful at once. “Do you keep beer at the office?” 

“Of course not.” Harvey rolled his eyes. He tapped the side of the tumbler. “Not when I have this.” 

Finally, Mike seemed a bit more convinced as he held the tumbler to his lips and took a sip. Harvey half expected him to make a face, but mostly, Mike just looked like he was making up his mind. After a moment, he shook it off and offered the tumbler back to Harvey again and Harvey took it. 

Mike said, “Not bad, I guess.”

Before Harvey could read Mike his rights for having terrible taste, he took another look at the guy’s eye and decided against it. “...Need some ice for that?” 

“Walking into a pole hurts more,” Mike said with a little laugh. “I’ll live.” The drink seemed to have perked him up enough that he moved to support himself on one elbow. “...Are you planning to sleep in your office tonight?” 

Harvey drank more whiskey. He passed the tumbler back to Mike, who did the same without hesitating this time. In an effort not to stare too much at Mike’s injury, Harvey refocused his gaze on the attractive swell of Mike’s throat as he swallowed. 

“Whatever gave you that idea?” 

Mike shook the nearly melted ice in the tumbler and they clinked weakly against the side of the glass. “Unless you’re planning on breaking the law.” 

“You say that like I can’t afford a driver, I have one on call just in case I don’t feel like driving,” Harvey scoffed. “Give that back.” 

“Yeah, and I could’ve taken a cab.” Mike complied, and the glass again changed hands, but his gaze was intent on Harvey and showed no sign of shying away. “Were you waiting for me?” 

Had it been any other time, Harvey might have hurried to lie. The knowing glint in Mike’s (good) eye should have been warning enough, but the Macallan in his system told him otherwise. So Harvey said, going for broke, “So what if I was?” 

That was apparently the right thing to have said, because the look of surprise that painted Mike’s face was genuine. Clearly, Harvey had won an advantage by telling the truth. Normally, he’d feel worse about that.

“If you were, then I guess I’m flattered,” Mike said. He reached a hand up towards his bad eye; without thinking and acting pretty much on instinct, Harvey put a hand around Mike’s wrist, stopping him. Harvey was suddenly all too aware of Mike’s pulse buzzing against his palm. 

It wasn’t until a moment afterwards that Harvey realized he was still holding onto Mike’s wrist. He let it go as nonchalantly as possible and Mike looked away from him. 

Harvey cleared his throat and held out the tumbler with an inch of whiskey still in it as a peace offering, of sorts. “Why don’t you finish that up while I give my driver a call?” 

Mike asked, as he undid his seatbelt, “Do you want to come up?” 

At least, Harvey was about ninety percent sure that was what Mike said, anyway; this was bolstered by the meaningful look that Mike was giving him with one foot out of the car. “...Come up?” 

The partition glass was up, but Harvey knew Ray enough to know that his driver was no fool. Ray would keep his mouth shut like he had in the past five years he’d driven Harvey around, but this didn’t mean that Ray wouldn’t keep his ears open and his eyes peeled. Somehow, Harvey felt both of those things emanating from Ray’s reflection in the rearview mirror without a doubt. 

“Yeah, you know, for a beer or something.” Mike had gotten out of the car by now, but was still staring intently in towards its backseat, as if by sheer force of his stare he could tempt Harvey out of the car. Not necessarily because Harvey _wasn’t_ tempted. He was just—

Harvey said, “Or something.” Just to be sure. 

Mike grinned, and for a moment, the weird lightness of it, the ease with which Mike tended to smile, made Harvey forget for a moment that Mike had a black eye. He tilted his head an inviting inch. “Or something.” 

Usually Harvey spent his Friday nights pointedly away from the office. Sometimes he spent it alone, and sometimes, not. The past few Fridays, Mike had been early enough that this didn’t have to be a choice staring at Harvey this firmly in the face, demanding an answer right now. He opened his mouth, closed it and got out of the car.

Before Ray could enquire about Harvey’s plans later, Harvey preempted him. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Don’t worry about tonight.” 

“That’s presumptive of you,” said Mike out of the corner of his mouth after Ray turned Harvey’s car around the corner. 

“He’s got kids at home,” Harvey said. Despite what nearly everyone thought of him, it was important to Harvey that he remember that other people had a life. It seemed to him like good business practice. If he hired an associate, he’d probably forget that that was the case; so as far as he was concerned, it was a perfectly legitimate reason not to hire an associate. 

Mike managed to look smug and amused at the same time, even with his black eye. He stole a glance at his watch. “Kids who...need tucking into bed when it’s past midnight? You’d have been better off trying to sell me on Ray wanting to go home and do...I don’t know, do whatever to his wife.” 

“Do...whatever?” Harvey raised an eyebrow. “What are you, twelve? To think I let you have some of the good stuff like an adult.” 

“Would it make it better for you if I said ‘fuck’ instead, Harvey? And here I was trying to be subtle. Fuck that, I guess, right?” 

“It’s past midnight.” Harvey pointed out. He did like the way Mike said, ‘fuck’ but only a little, an appropriate amount. “What’s the use of subtle? But I’d still like a beer.” 

Put simply, Mike’s fourth floor studio apartment, situated on an oddly leafy street in Brooklyn was—

“Not what you expected?” Mike finished politely, plonking two uncapped beers on a cramped coffee table before leaning back on the sagging couch, pressing a bag of frozen peas to his eye. Clearly, Mike had seen one too many movies, and as Harvey settled next to him with his own beer, he almost expected the bag of peas to be swapped out for a piece of raw steak any minute now.

“Well...” Harvey dragged out the word, taking the opportunity to gauge Mike’s reaction. There was, however, little for him to hang his hat on. Mike just looked like a guy who was glad to be home and certainly someone who needed a beer. 

“I was going to say that it’s more normal than I would’ve imagined,” Harvey said, trying a little of his beer. At least Mike had passable taste in beer. It actually tasted decent and not watered down. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” Mike asked, pressing his mouth thoughtfully against the rim of his own bottle. “What the hell has normal ever done to you? I happen to _like_ normal.” 

“Says the guy who’s Batman,” Harvey rolled his eyes upwards to stare at the bare flickering lightbulbs hanging by what looked like a string above his head. 

“Oh, so now you believe me. My agent twisted my arm.” Mike shrugged. “Said if I didn’t take a movie this year he’d drop me. Anyway.” The couch was small enough that Harvey felt it very keenly when Mike shifted over a bare, almost imperceptible inch to bump his knee. “Don’t avoid my question.” 

Harvey exhaled, and forced a certain sense of tension to release from his shoulders. “Normal is...okay, look. Normal is here.” He demonstrated, holding his palm out, about level with his chest. 

“Yeah, so?” 

“Here’s boring,” Harvey said, and he raised his palm farther up, pausing finally an inch or two above his nose. “I like things up here. Where they stay interesting.” 

“Ever thought of acting?” Mike reached forward now to put his bag of lukewarm peas on the coffee table. On second thought, he seemed to register this as a bad idea and got up to go to the kitchen again. A moment later, Mike returned without the peas but with two more bottles of beer and proceeded to uncap both without asking Harvey if he wanted another. 

“You almost sound like you’re paying me a compliment,” said Harvey. 

“I am,” Mike agreed, looking him up and down. “Do you always look like that when someone pays you a compliment?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Mike maneuvered himself slightly so that he was sitting at an angle; it was easier to look Harvey in the eye this way and the other reason, Harvey thought, was that it left him less room to escape. Mike tugged his tie loose and wound it thoughtfully through his fingers. “Uncomfortable as fuck. Like you want to jump out a window.” 

(Mike probably said “fuck” there on purpose. It didn’t pass Harvey by.) 

“I’ve never thought about it,” said Harvey. The mark of a good lawyer was one who thought on his feet: answering one question while conveniently and deliberately sidestepping others. Part of him was relieved to be back in his element. 

But Mike, possibly from plenty of practice from being harangued by TMZ or whoever, didn’t seem bothered. He switched tack: “Did you always want to be a lawyer, then?” 

“What is this, twenty questions?” Harvey sought refuge in his beer, if only for a few precious seconds to _think_ , only to find that he was empty. 

Without missing a beat, Mike reached to pass him another. But then he didn’t lean back as much the second time, leaving less space between them this time around. Come to think of it, this was probably the most cramped, crappy couch Harvey had ever laid eyes on since college (even though he did go to Harvard). 

Mike was watching him carefully again. He said, “Aside from the fact that you appear to be allergic to feelings and other people, I don’t know much about you, that’s all.” 

Harvey had to admit, “I can’t figure out if you just called me a dick, but nicely.” 

Mike grinned, “You _are_ explicitly a dick. Is that better?” 

From Harvey’s limited interactions with the filming crew every morning and occasionally, at lunchtime, it was plain to see that Mike was at least used to one variety of dick. Harvey supposed that was not entirely a surprise. But that was in itself a sort of a good thing, at least he didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than what he was. Harvey drank more of his beer and tried to shift his weight on the couch, only for the frame to creak tellingly beneath him.

Mike hid a snigger behind his beer. “Don’t worry, it does that sometimes. But it’s never let me down before.” 

“That sounds like it’s come close before.” Harvey couldn’t help a smirk of his own. “But so long as we’ve established that I’m a dick, can I be a dick about this couch?” The couch in question seemed to know that it was being spoken about and more or less creaked in protest. “I get the normal thing, I do, but.” 

“Do you?” 

“In theory,” Harvey said, “But there’s got to be a line, right? This has got to be several miles off that line.” 

Mike’s expression darkened as he took a longer than usual swig from his bottle of beer. Harvey sat up a little and this time, the couch didn’t make a sound, as if it was silently judging him for being past the line.

Finally, Harvey said, “What?” 

Mike sighed and closed his eyes. He rocked on his heels, finally leaning back against the too-soft back of the couch. Harvey was half expecting the next words out of Mike’s mouth to be, “Get the fuck out of my apartment.” 

Instead, Mike said, “When Jessica sicced me on you, did you really not Google me or anything?” 

Harvey had to think for a moment. Although he’d liked to believe that he’d been sensible about drinking this evening, it was becoming vastly clear to him that he hadn’t managed to be so smart about nearly everything else. 

“Should I have?” Harvey asked, “I don’t usually.” And he really didn’t, although given Donna’s reaction from that one time he’d asked for more information about Mike, maybe he should have. “Did you murder someone? Just so we’re clear, criminal law really isn’t my forte.” 

Mike opened his mouth, closed it again, drank more beer, and laughed. “No, I.” He shook himself and started again. “Seriously? You never looked me up, not once.” 

Whereas Mike’s posture a few minutes before was guarded and closed, learning that Harvey had in fact not done his due diligence after taking him on as a client, caused him to be more relaxed. Mike even took another sip from his beer. 

Taking that as an encouraging sign, Harvey nodded. “It’s the same thing as me never asking a client whether he’s skimming from the petty cash. I don’t want to know, and moreover, I don’t need to know. So no, I haven’t. You can either tell me or not.” 

Mike said, looking away from Harvey. “It was everywhere for a while. I always thought I wouldn’t be able to get away from it.” He shifted to place his hand on the worn cushion. “This is my grandmother’s couch. She...looked after me when my parents died. Car accident.”

Harvey said, “Oh.” 

Mike soldiered on, as if Harvey hadn’t spoken. His eyes were tightly shut, like he was willing it all to either go away or stay at arm’s length. “I don’t think she ever got over it, the fact that I gave up college to go work with Disney. Grammy always thought I could have done _better_ for myself. But I wanted to take care of her for once, move her to a better apartment, a better neighborhood. And it wasn’t like I had a terrible job.” 

Harvey drained the last of his beer and moved to put it very carefully back on the coffee table so that Mike wouldn’t hear that it was empty. “But?” 

“But she wouldn’t take my money. She liked her apartment, it was rent-controlled and everything. She wanted everything to be _normal_ , somehow. One way or the other,” Mike said, “I should have known that she wouldn’t. All that she asked of me was that I come see her for dinner and a game of checkers every week. She’d always beat me, when I managed to show up.” Another almost violent swig of beer and Mike clunked his bottle on the table next to Harvey’s. 

Mike gestured. “D’you want another one?” 

Harvey said, “Not really.” Part of him thought he should tell Mike not to have another, but all kidding aside, it was none of his damn business. 

Mike got up, a little unsteady on his feet, and on instinct, Harvey reached out and grabbed him by the hand when it looked like Mike was about to topple back onto the couch again. 

“I’m going to get another beer,” Mike said. “Let go of me.” 

“I don’t give a damn if you get another beer or not,” said Harvey, and he thought he meant it. He’d been around the block a few times, and of course, had seen clients do much worse than have one too many in their own homes. “Just...hang on a second. Tell me.” 

“Thought you didn’t want to know.” Mike looked down at him a bit blearily, but he didn’t shake off Harvey’s grip on his hand. 

“I lied. I do want to know.” 

“It was Grammy’s seventy-fifth,” Mike said, “birthday. I mean. I was going to buy her this nice apartment and I figured I’d finally be able to get away with it since it was a birthday present. But then she…” A strange, choked quality came over his voice. “She passed away. Just...a freak thing, all right, a heart attack. And it wasn’t completely unexpected but it _felt_ like a freak thing to me. So I bought some weed and went for a drive. Put someone in a wheelchair for six months and Disney got so fucking _angry_ with me.” 

“So angry that they...what, killed you off on your own show?” 

“And fired me.” Mike shrugged. “Only to take it back. The show was more popular than they thought. It was a whole shitshow.” He paused to give Harvey a slightly suspicious look again. “And you’re telling me none of this sounds familiar. It was _everywhere_ , like, I don’t know. Twelve years ago?” 

Harvey deadpanned, “Was it in the _Wall Street Journal_? I still read that cover to cover.” 

Mike said, “Fuck you.” And then he laughed, the surprising sound loosening his entire body, Harvey even felt the tension leaving his fingers. 

When he’d gotten a hold of himself a moment later, Mike said, “What now?” 

Harvey got up and touched the side of Mike’s jaw. “I don’t know. I could leave.” He didn’t really want to, but more and more, it was seeming like the right thing to do. 

Mike perked right up. “You gonna call Ray and rouse him from his beauty sleep or interrupt his whatever?” 

Harvey rolled his eyes. “Or I could just call a cab, you know, like a normal person.” 

The next morning, Harvey woke up with no headache, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d gotten run over by a truck last night. Like he was sleepwalking, Harvey called Nougatine and made a reservation for eleven thirty. Then he called Ray who politely and professionally asked him which address he was calling from. Harvey was only a little relieved to be giving his own address.

Donna, however, was less kind and a lot more forthcoming when she came to the door still in her yoga pants. She had to keep her mouth shut most of the time while they were at the office, but on the weekends, it was a different story. Donna planted one hand on her hip and reached out with her other hand to adjust Harvey’s tie. 

“Wonder Boy didn’t put out? Or he did and it was awful? Or…oh, my God.” Donna’s eyes widened. “You saw the teaser! And now you’re insecure!” 

“What? Have you _met_ me?” Harvey narrowed his eyes. “What teaser?” 

“Oh, just the teaser where Harvey Dent makes out with Bruce Wayne for like ten seconds. It’s very tantalizing. And that’s just the teaser. Here, look.” 

Miraculously, since neither Donna’s crop top nor her yoga pants had pockets, she still had her phone in hand in the next second, thumbing furiously. Finally, she found what she was looking for and held it out. 

Harvey stared. On screen, that was most definitely Mike in his terrible, drab Harvey Dent suit, really going for the tonsils of some guy who looked familiar but whose name he couldn’t recall and maybe didn’t want to. 

Donna supplied helpfully, reading his mind, “Greg.” 

“Who?” 

“Bruce Wayne? That guy?” Donna raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger. “I should really start swapping out your copy of the _Wall Street Journal_ with _USWeekly_.”

“You do that, and I’m cancelling our brunch at Nougatine.” 

“Nougatine? Well, you should’ve said so.” Donna had a particular weakness for their buttermilk pancakes. Harvey knew this for a fact and tried not to take advantage of it too often. For her part, Donna usually tried not to look too excited. “Can I at least get changed?” 

“Does Mike know that Greg’s probably an asshole who’s trying to steal his movie?” Harvey asked. He’d come to this conclusion after Donna had thumbed through two interviews given to websites and surely, there was more to come. Not that Harvey made a big deal of trying to keeping up with showbiz.

“Oh, so you _do_ know who Greg Boone is.” Donna took a sip of her champagne before making a face. “He is a bit of a dick. But plenty of studios would consider Gregory to be more bankable than Mike. He’s already done a few franchises, and he’s from one of those acting dynasties. Like the Gyllenhaals, but—”

“Dicks?” Harvey supplied.

Donna smirked. “Now you get the picture.” 

Harvey said, mostly to his own pancakes, “I’m beginning to sense that Mike has a type.” 

“Oh, do you? —Actually no, I’ll leave you alone. That was wonderfully astute.” Donna stared him down for emphasis. “Anyway, I might know nearly everything in the universe, but I’m also not Mike. If you want to know what Mike knows…” 

“Ask Mike?” 

“Atta boy.” 

After Harvey had Ray drop Donna off at home, he toyed with the idea of having Ray drive to Brooklyn. He spent exactly ten seconds thinking about it before deciding it would be a bad idea. 

So he went home. Harvey was going to go home, maybe regroup with an episode of _Star Trek_ and regret telling Jessica that he’d go to the Hamptons. Oh, and of course, not think about how practically everyone in New York or possibly the world had probably seen that (indeed very tantalizing) Batman teaser. 

Usually, Harvey walked past the doorman with no more than a quick hello, but this time, the doorman stopped him with a slightly sheepish look. 

“Uh, Mr. Specter, we caught someone trying to get into your apartment.” He spoke very fast, but Harvey got the gist of it. 

Still, it was probably good to make sure. Harvey said, “What the hell do you mean, get into my apartment? Where were you?” 

The doorman was doing a pretty good job of sticking to his story. “I’m having him detained by Russ in the manager’s office. I’ll leave it up to you whether you’d like to call the police and press charges. Please, if you’ll come this way with me.”

“If I had a choice, no one would be caught trying to get into my apartment in the first place,” Harvey muttered. This time though, it seemed the door man had thought ahead and as he left his station, another guy took his place. 

“He says he knows you,” said the doorman, as if this helped. “I’d thought you’d appreciate the discretion, Mr. Specter.” 

So yes, they were off to a great start. 

Harvey was not the best with faces, but over time, he thought he’d gotten better. After all, it was kind of a necessity, top-class clients wanted (and more importantly, paid for) his attention. And although Harvey didn’t much _like_ the idea, he had to concede that he could think of at least two people who’d pull something stupid like this and that Jessica would have his literal ass on a plate for carving if this all wasn’t handled quietly. 

Neither of the two stupid people was sitting in the manager’s office. Instead, the guy sprang up the moment Harvey entered, as if he’d been sitting on a beehive. Clearly the doorman’s sense of discretion cut both ways because the little weasel still had his sunglasses on indoors.

“Harvey! Thank God. Okay, look, I know this looks...not great, but—”

Harvey expelled a sudden breath; all things considered, this probably wasn’t the worst thing, but it was certainly the strangest thing that he could think would happen.

“...Mike?” 

The doorman, more than a little smug but mostly relieved, said, “So you do know him?” 

“Yeah,” Harvey said shortly. He hardly owed the guy an explanation and it was looking like a long one anyway. For one thing, Harvey was still not entirely convinced that the doorman had done enough to keep his job. The guy was definitely out a Christmas bonus this year if nothing else. To Mike, he gestured towards the door. “You, come on.” 

“Just so you know,” said Mike, standing in Harvey’s bathroom peeling off the last of his fake mustache, “He was a crappy doorman and should be fired. I’d fire my doorman if he’d pulled shit like that.” 

The state of Mike’s studio apartment was not too far from Harvey’s memory and he laughed not very nicely. “Your place doesn’t even _have_ a doorman.” 

“I used to, in my old place. ” Mike said, a touch defensively. “But then...I decided I didn’t need a doorman. Most people don’t, anyway.” He turned around to look at Harvey now, instead of just staring at him through the mirror. “I just...dunno, wanted a change of pace. Especially after I made up my mind that I was going to quit acting.” 

Harvey couldn’t help himself. “Great job quitting.” 

Mike made a sound in his throat, a not very nice sound, either. “I know. Sorry.” 

“Is this a ‘sorry, I broke into your apartment,’ or ‘sorry,’ for something else?” 

Harvey noticed just now, that even heavily disguised, there was a faint purple tinge under Mike’s right eye. However, it was a lot better than the last time Harvey had seen it. Mike raised a hand, as if to rub his eye before he remembered. He said, “I didn’t break into your apartment. Imagine if you took me to court over that.” 

“Don’t want to,” Harvey said. “What are you doing here?” 

“I,” Mike started and stopped. “I didn’t think the paparazzi would follow me here. I just kind of...I got a bit claustrophobic at my place. I was supposed to do an interview with Greg and _Vox_ but I told him I was hungover. Not to mention my eye’s purple, the hell’s he going to do about that?” 

Oh. “Because of the teaser trailer?” But then Harvey supposed he had more pertinent questions, like: “How do you even know where I live?”

“I bought Donna a coffee the other day. Triple shot skinny latte with extra cream, I think she’s developing a soft spot for me.” 

“Don’t kid yourself.” 

“I’m here aren’t I?” Mike gave him a look, half pleased, half _I told you so_. He brushed past Harvey on his way out of the bathroom and rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully, a smirk coming back slowly, seeping into the line of his mouth. “So, if you think about it, she _did_ put out.” 

Harvey had never thought about it quite like that and hoped he'd never have to ever again. He shut his eyes tight to squeeze the strange image out of his head. For the second time, he asked (and this was a big deal because he was Harvey fucking Specter and he never asked anything twice), “What are you doing here, Mike?” 

The little smirk slid off Mike’s face once more and he looked uncertain again. “I don’t know. I guess I kind of...told you my life story last night? And then you just, I don’t know. Left. Are we—okay?” What made this worse was that even as the waver was in Mike’s eyes and in his voice, he didn’t shy away from Harvey. Mike looked straight at him, and Harvey was struck by the earnestness in the other man’s gaze, pinned by a sense of nakedness. The vulnerability from Mike seemed to have bled into Harvey, becoming a part of him. And it wasn’t something that Harvey could have quickly gotten away from, either.

Harvey looked away first. Sticking his hands in his pockets, it made him feel better to think just how Mike and his perfect air of puppy dog injury might have been utilized in a courtroom, or perhaps, even better, during a deposition where there was usually a camera in operation. Thinking of it like that curated the situation into something almost affiliated with work, even if Harvey generally tried to make it a point not to think about work on the weekends. He was a Senior Partner and he fucking earned a break.

But Mike didn’t look like he was going to look away anytime soon. Harvey sighed and while the logical half of him (including the part of him that didn’t much do feelings, incidentally) told him that it was a terrible idea, the other part of Harvey that _wanted_ to stay, only to decide in the end that it was the right thing to do—it was that bit of Harvey that took one step forward.

And then another.

Until he had Mike pinned against the wall. Mike seemed to have stopped breathing, but then he almost reset himself, emboldened by Harvey’s proximity rather than shying away from it. In Harvey’s head, it could have gone either way. Mike’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile, smirk, something. 

“Did you want me to stay?” Harvey asked. The question almost threatened to stick to the roof of his mouth. 

“Well, since I’m not as emotionally constipated as you?” The wavering line of Mike’s mouth finally settled, relaxed even, into a vague smirk. “Yeah, I think I would have liked that.” 

“I’m not constipated,” Harvey protested. 

“Then what do you call this?” There was only a scant amount of room but Mike did a good impression of the world’s worst shimmy to make an extra inch between them. Harvey couldn’t help but laugh. The sound appeared to have surprised both of them. 

“I call it doing the right thing,” Harvey said. “Not taking advantage of someone who’s clearly in…”

Mike said, no small amount of irony in his voice, punctuating his tone with an arched eyebrow, as if daring Harvey to say something true (if stupid). “I _can’t_ wait to see how you’ll end that sentence.” 

“...Distress,” Harvey finished. It wasn’t exactly a strong finish, but maybe finishing was not the most important thing, this time around. 

“Boring.” Mike grinned, leaning forward and closing the inch of space between them. He tasted like coffee, and Harvey could tell that he’d maybe missed a hair or two of the fake mustache. “Who the hell do you think you are, normal Joe Schmoe? But hey, I’ll take it.” 

Harvey couldn’t believe it as he stared at Mike’s lopsided bowtie. Sure, they were in a moving car making good time towards the Hamptons and Harvey supposed there was sometimes a weird thing about adjusting someone else’s clothes, though maybe this didn’t count because Mike was technically wearing Harvey’s backup tux. It wasn’t like it was Harvey’s fault that Mike didn’t think this through.

As far as Harvey was concerned, he’d gone above and beyond for Mike already. It wasn’t every day that Harvey wore a tux, but at least he was ready twice over for any occasion. 

“How is it that you’ve walked down the red carpet who knows how many times and...you _haven’t_ learned how to tie a tie?” Harvey asked. “And to think you played a spy...kid thing. _And_ you’re Batman. Where does he get off not being able to tie a tie?” 

Mike made a frustrated noise in his throat and tugged the tie loose again. “You know, it’s _in character_ for Dent to not be able to tie a tie. It’s a pretty big deal.”

“I bet they wrote that into the script to screw with you.” 

“You have a very...strange definition of screw.” This time, Mike didn’t say, “fuck,” but he did reach over and put his hand on the inside of Harvey’s thigh, and that said enough in its own way.

Harvey looked down at Mike’s hand, and then back up at Mike again. He cleared his throat, if only to make sure his voice didn’t crack. “If you want help, maybe you should ask.” 

“Oh, I see what you’re doing.” 

In spite of himself, Harvey had already reached out to tug at Mike’s bowtie, making sure that both ends were even before he got to work. Not that Harvey had a lot of experience doing up other people’s bowties, but at least he was doing better than Mike. He could feel Mike’s breath hitching just a little but he remained still.

As he worked, Harvey kept one eye on Mike, who was equally keeping an eye on him. Pulling one end through a makeshift loop, Harvey said. “What am I doing? Aren’t I helping you anyway? Seriously though.” 

“Seriously what, Harvey?” Mike prodded, his hand sliding one more inch up Harvey’s thigh, now unmistakably near his crotch, and Harvey had to take a deep breath as his hands stuttered. Luckily, he was done fiddling with Mike’s bowtie and was able to settle back into his own seat. 

“Seriously—” Harvey broke off for a moment to move Mike’s hand off his leg, but on second thought, kept his fingers splayed over Mike’s knuckles before taking a hold of his hand properly. “—stop that. I have to work once we get to Stensland’s party.” 

Now it was Mike’s turn to look down at their hands. Then he looked up at Harvey again. “You might have to work, but I don’t. Aren’t I just here as eye candy?” 

“You know, ny eye candy of mine would know how to tie a bowtie,” Harvey said, plucking two glasses of champagne off a passing tray and passing one to Mike. “Especially if said eye candy is here to make me look good, just for future reference.” 

Mike clinked the edge of his glass against Harvey’s before taking a sip. He said, slyly and carefully bumping Harvey’s elbow, “ _Do_ you need someone here to make you look good?” 

“Okay, you know what, that’s a nice answer. I’ll accept that.” Harvey conceded. He took a drink from his own glass and looked around the room. This party was in name a charity event, but in reality Harvey counted no less than eight hedge fund guys, a couple of actual eye candy, and a smattering of other lawyers including a particular bastard from Bratton and Gould. In other words, just a veritable shark tank full of people who’d never think for a second about giving something away for free.

But the McKernon Foundation, as founded by McKernon Studios, most recently headed by one Robert Stensland, had money to blow and apparently it was blowing it in all the right directions. It owned the rights to several franchises including Mike’s rendition of Batman and several others (at least one starring Greg Dickhead) and it had hardly passed Jessica by that Stensland was on the outs with his current representation. 

Harvey hadn’t yet had the pleasure of meeting the man. It didn’t preclude him from recognizing Stensland swanning through the large room like he owned the place. (Well, it was his house.) 

“Mike Ross? I thought that was you. Didn’t recognize you all dressed up.” 

As if he were watching a movie at point-blank range, Harvey watched as Robert Stensland approached where they were standing and clapped a friendly hand on Mike’s shoulder before giving his hand a vigorous shake. 

For his part, Mike looked just as surprised as Harvey as he hitched a smile on just in time. As much as Mike seemed to dislike his profession, there was no denying that he’d gotten the “master of disguise” portion of it, down pat. “Mr. Stensland! Uh nice...house.” 

“That’s one word for it,” said Stensland, and Harvey got the idea that the man was actually trying to be gracious. It really took all kinds to spin a world. Letting go of Mike’s hand finally, Stensland then appeared to notice Harvey. “And you brought company.” 

Mike laughed a little closer and moved a little towards Harvey to put an arm around him, squeezing him gently at the nape of his neck, as if to reassure him that whatever this was, it was going to be fine and Mike had a handle on things.

Usually the tables were turned, so Harvey was more than interested to see how things would turn out. Mike said, “Company brought me, actually. I’m just here to look pretty today. This is my attorney, Harvey Specter?” 

“Harvey Specter is your lawyer?” Stensland looked impressed, but only for a second. 

“Yeah, that’s what my accountant said too,” said Mike. 

“Glad to know my reputation precedes me. But just so we’re clear,” Harvey said, stepping in and away from Mike for a second. “I’m just here as Mike’s lawyer tonight. I’ll leave the fishing to the more capable this evening. Aren’t we all here for a good cause?” 

This was apparently the right thing to have said to Stensland because he laughed. This was a man who knew he had his pick of the town and wasn’t afraid of flaunting it either. No doubt a man of Stensland’s stature was aware of what had befallen Pearson Hardman as of late and Harvey was certainly not going to someone like that with a begging bowl. “Well _said_ , Harvey. A man after my own heart. Your reputation does precede you.” 

To Mike, Stensland said, “I missed seeing you on the talk show circuit recently, what with the release of the movie so close.” 

“Well, yeah I um,” Mike said unhelpfully and hid in his drink. “Gave myself a black eye and didn’t want to make anyone look bad. You know how it is. I’m sure Greg had it all handled.” 

“Gave yourself a black eye?” Harvey prompted once Stensland left them alone again. 

“Oh you know how it is.” Mike shrugged, the hunch of his shoulders a little more secretive than usual. 

“I thought I did, but then I find out you’re pretty much on a first name basis with Robert Stensland.” This didn’t hit Harvey quite as hard as the teaser trailer, but he supposed he was used to it in a way, Mike not being completely open with him. Another version of Harvey might have thought that was beyond the pale, but right now, Harvey took it in stride. It was more to learn anyway. It wasn’t all that often that someone kept him on his toes. “What else are you not telling me?” 

For a moment, Mike said nothing. Then he said, barely glancing at Harvey, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? Why the hell are you at this party, anyway?” 

They stood together on Stensland’s fuck off big balcony and stared out into the nice view of the sea. Harvey sighed, “Same reason all the other lawyers are, I suspect. All right. Normally I wouldn’t let Jessica bully me into taking a client. But I agreed to meet with you, because.” 

“Hardman?” Mike supplied. “I read about it.” 

“What the papers didn’t tell you is that it was...my fault. Probably. Jessica trusted me to keep an eye on Hardman, and I didn’t see it coming. I _always_ see it coming.” 

Mike thought about this. He leaned back against the balcony now, his body turned a quarter-degree and studied Harvey for a good long minute. He asked, “Did you see me coming?” 

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Just a question, Harvey. You can either answer it, or not . We’re not in court.” 

“No,” Harvey said finally. “I guess I didn’t. Are you sure you don’t want to be a lawyer?” 

“I thought about it,” Mike admitted. “But playing pretend was always easier for me.”

Years and years of dragging the truth out of uncooperating clients or indeed pesky opponents on the other side told Harvey there was more, so he simply waited. 

“Okay.” Mike let out a deep breath. “If we’re suddenly being honest. I didn’t just come to you because of the teaser. Someone called me from my old job and I...thought it better not to be home.”

“Your old job?” 

“I took the LSATs for people; a test date’s coming up in a month. And the bar, once. Don’t worry, no one knows who I am. I always wore a disguise. As for Stensland, he likes me because I caught a loophole for him, long story. He likes it when people save him a buck.” 

“A...buck.” Harvey stepped up to brush by the side of Mike’s arm. “Come on, don’t be modest.”

“I gotta be.” Mike shrugged. “Leaves something for you to do. Okay, it was more like a million.—Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I,” Harvey began and stopped. “Maybe I’m turned on.” 

“...Yeah?” Mike turned and closed the inch of space between them. “Does that mean that we can go back to yours now and make out?”

“I’m _working_ , I said,” Harvey reiterated, but Mike was making a convincing case. 

Especially when Mike said, with a little smirk before he leaned in for a kiss, “You’ll probably impress him more by leaving. Everyone thinks he’s hot shit. But you’re Harvey Specter. You don’t have to think that.”

Harvey Specter was not exactly a breakfast man unless it was at Nougatine on the weekend for some job or the other well done. 

While Mike’s eggs benedicts were hardly up to par, he was quickly convincing Harvey that breakfast was the champion meal of the day. 

“Anyway. So I’ve got this movie coming out,” said Mike afterwards, a little smile playing at the edge of his mouth. “My agent’s threatening to find me a date. There’s a poll going on in this _Buzzfeed_ article. It’s even trending on Twitter.” 

“Okay.”

“Donna’s voted in it ten times,” Mike snorted. “I think? It might be more now.” 

“As long as she didn’t vote for Greg. Is that even allowed?” Actually, Harvey privately hoped that Greg wasn’t on the list of options. 

“She’s Donna,” said Mike, as if he’d been saying it for years. Flew right off his tongue. “I’m sure she’s got something figured out.” Then he squinted at Harvey hard for a moment, “Wait a minute. Harvey, are you jealous of _Greg_?” 

“I’ve heard that he’s more billable than you are,” Harvey said, which was a version of the truth. It felt important that he not lie to Mike. “That he’s up there with the Gyllenhaals. Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, anyway. I don’t get jealous.” 

“Yeah, except the Gyllenhaals aren’t dicks,” Mike said, making a face. “I mean, Greg tries. But the dude will probably always be a dick.” He reached across the table and took Harvey’s hand, his expression completely serious. “Anyway, will you come to my premiere?” 

“You really know how to butter a guy up,” Harvey said. “I guess.”

“And way to let a guy down when he’s in distress.” Mike rolled his eyes.

Harvey looked at Mike again, with his tousled hair and his not-so-surprisingly (now) red mouth. He said, “Well, if that’s what distress looks like.” 

“Fuck you.” But Mike couldn’t quite keep the laugh at the edge of his voice. Besides that though, he was doing his best impression of a hurt puppy and not many things had that kind of effect on Harvey.

“I mean, yes. But only if you tie your own damn bowtie this time.” 

Mike brightened, but still with a slight smirk on his lips. It was something that Harvey could admit that he liked about Mike; he smirked when he was comfortable, so maybe that was a good sign. “Deal. And here I thought I was going to have to beg on my knees.” 

“Well, don’t let my agreeableness stop you,” Harvey said with a tilted smile of his own. “Otherwise all that teaches me that I should be a dick.”

Correction: it was a great sign. 

Harvey was learning that while he didn’t _hate_ movie premieres, per se, he didn’t feel a burning desire to attend one again. This presented a problem as he imagined for a moment, many more movie premieres in his foreseeable future as Jessica worked to bulk up the firm’s billables, especially as he was affiliated with the man of the hour.

The man of the hour who had since disappeared. Not that Harvey was looking for him or anything.

“Looking for me?” Mike’s voice sounded somewhere nearby and Harvey turned around to find him standing only a few feet away with a—

“Maybe. I know _Vanity Fair_ is.” Harvey wasn’t exactly playing coy, it was more that he suddenly had better things to do, such as being distracted by the unlit cigarette—and he was only too relieved as he took a second look, that it _was_ just a cigarette—in Mike’s hand. “If that’s for celebratory purposes, I could recommend a good Cuban, or something that hits the spot.” 

“So long as you don’t sell me out. Or something. I bet you could,” Mike said, closing the distance between them in a few purposeful steps. Now, they were close enough to kiss, and Harvey would’ve leaned forward as if it was the most natural thing, had he not been stopped by Mike’s warning hand on his lapel. 

“...Come on, you know I don’t smoke. But I bummed this off Rob so I could get some air.” Mike laughed. “The funny thing is that everyone asks a million questions when you head off to pee, but nobody gives you a second glance when you head out for a smoke.” 

“Spoken like someone who’s never been accosted for a handjob in the gent’s,” Harvey said. 

Mike went a bit red, and his gaze slid down to the unlit cigarette. He cleared his throat. “Is that an offer? Also, did you really—” 

“I wouldn’t want to ruin your big night with such an indiscretion.” Harvey shrugged, cutting Mike off smoothly. “We’ll save that for the second movie when I’m really tired of people talking about you making out with Bruce Wayne.” 

“I thought you were Bruce Wayne,” Mike said. 

“I am. But not in your movie.” Speaking of, Harvey turned his head around just in case Gregory was still skulking around somewhere. “Rob who? Didn’t realize you and Stensland were first name terms.” Robert Stensland also didn’t seem like the type of guy to let Mike bum a cigarette. With Stensland, Harvey got the sense that you worked for everything, even a goddamn cigarette. The guy was cheap that way. 

“Not Stensland.” Mike shook his head. “Besides, I think he goes by Bob.” 

“I’m not going to ask you how you know that.” 

Mike went on. “Anyway, by Rob I mean Rob Pattinson.” 

Harvey blinked. “The guy from _Twilight_?” 

“And I’m not going to ask you how you know that,” Mike snorted. “We know each other from a thing where he microwaved some pasta out of desperation—” He caught Harvey’s questioning stare and smiled, the edge of his mouth curling darkly. “Long story. But since he’s probably going to replace me, I thought I’d introduce him to Dom. If it’s any solace to you, Greg will probably hate him. But then they’ll still have to make out in the second film. And the third, and probably the fourth, although rumor is they’re broken up for most of that.” 

Harvey stared at Mike some more. He tried to remember how much he had to drink (not that much). Finally, he said, “I’m missing something, aren’t I?” 

Mike’s face said _oops_. Out loud, he said, “I wasn’t going to tell you tonight. But I did just find out.” From his tux jacket, he extracted an envelope and handed it over. “If you’re going to be mad, though, be mad at me tomorrow, okay Harvey?” 

“Why would I be…” Harvey trailed off. He read the return address on the envelope and suddenly understood. But just to be sure, he took the thin sheaf of folded papers and skimmed them. “You didn’t.” 

“I did,” Mike said, nodding almost sheepishly. “I mean, I must have taken the LSATs a couple of hundred times by now. It was kind of...nice to sign my own name for once. But I still wore a disguise.” 

“I could just imagine the headlines.” Harvey smirked. “‘Lawyer Batman storms LSAT testing facility.’ Maybe that could be a deleted scene.” 

“That’s a terrible headline.” Mike shook his head. “Good thing you never went into journalism. Speaking of, I heard you were looking for an associate. Who went to Harvard.” As if he thought Harvey hadn’t noticed, Mike pointed to Harvard’s letterhead proudly stenciled on top of his acceptance letter. 

“If I was looking for an associate, I’d be looking for one _now_.” Harvey reminded him. “Not three years from now.” 

Mike thought for a moment, and put on that voice that he liked to use when “Would it change your mind if I said I could get cheap ass Stensland to sign with Pearson Hardman? We wouldn’t want Jessica to think I’d just sleep my way to the top.” 

“I.” It took Harvey a second. “I’m sorry, you did what?” 

“Bob likes me, remember?” Mike said, “And apparently, so do you.” 

“Differently, I hope,” said Harvey, feeling vaguely terrified but also hopeful. 

“Besides, you’ve held out this long,” Mike leaned in finally and kissed Harvey, a hand coming up to hold him firmly by the jaw. Harvey felt the odd tickle of the cigarette paper, but was soon distracted enough by other things. “Maybe I like my odds. But you’ll still have to show me around Harvard.” 

“I could show you my favorite pizza place,” Harvey suggested before kissing him back again. “We can go there like normal people on a date.” The words “normal” and “date” didn’t come too easy to him. 

But maybe Harvey could worry about that later. 

Mike smiled warmly against his mouth. “I’d really like that.”


End file.
